


Soused

by FoundlingMother



Series: On We Sweep With Threshing Oar [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Almost Kiss, Genderfluid Loki (Marvel), In Vino Veritas, Life on the Asgardian Refugee Ship, M/M, Magical Accidents, Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 09:16:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14746041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoundlingMother/pseuds/FoundlingMother
Summary: Loki drinks too much and finds he can no longer reliably maintain the spells that keep his items tucked safely in pockets of space.





	Soused

**Author's Note:**

> A anonymous user on Tumblr asked me how I'd combine the tropes "In Vino Veritas" and "Magical Accidents". This fic was the result. Enjoy!

“What did you drink?”

Valkyrie hiccups around the lip of a bottle. “We may have mixed a few…” She flaps her wrist, her beverage sloshing. “There was hard liquor involved. Your little brother’s soused.”

Loki scoffs. “I am not.”

Thor rakes his gaze over the books, clothes, odds and ends littering every flat surface in the room.

_Pop!_

An elegant, embroidered golden shawl floats to the floor. Thor stares at Loki. His brother’s face twists into a pout.

“I am merely experiencing some difficulties maintaining—” Loki attempts to stand, but gravity claims him. He manages to catch himself, returning to his perch on the stool, but it’s a near thing.

Valkyrie snorts. “Soused.”

“At least I am not slurring my words,” Loki hisses.

“You’re used to lifting a heavy weight when you speak. Silvertongue,” Valkyrie drawls, drawing the title out.

“Where did all this come from?” Thor interrupts.

_Pop!_

A book this time. It thuds atop another, larger tome.

“I should think the answer would be obvious.”

“I meant, why do you have all this? When did you seal it away in your… pockets?”

Loki purses his lips, scanning the items. “I have been collecting these things for centuries,” he muses. He plucks a sleek talon from the counter. “You gave me this, if you recall. A spoil from one of your adventures with Sif and the Warriors Three.”

The mention of his friends renews the chest ache and weariness Thor’s experienced since Ragnarok. “I didn’t think you kept any of that,” Thor says, voice rough.

“I kept all of it.”

“Right.” Valkyrie rises, swaying. “My cue to leave. You’re on cleanup, right?” She doesn’t wait for a response. “Night, Majesties.”

Thor hardly notices her stumbling exit. He cannot take his eye off Loki, still spinning the claw between thumb and forefinger. It would be cruel, Thor thinks, to take advantage of Loki’s impaired judgement and loosened tongue, but he cannot stop the next question that slips from his lips.

“Why?”

Loki’s fist clamps around the talon. He tucks his fist under his chin. “You gifted them to me.”

Thor maneuvers across the expanse of Loki’s collection. “Sentiment,” he murmurs, awed and amused in equal measure. He takes the seat Valkyrie vacated.

“I can be sentimental,” Loki grouses. “In my own way.”

Laughter bubbles up from within Thor’s chest. “You must be drunk, brother, to admit to that truth.” He wonders if he’s not a bit drunk himself. The tight hold grief had on his heart fades. He feels warm and light.

“Perhaps,” Loki admits. Steady green eyes draw Thor’s attention from his thoughts. “Whenever you returned with a trophy for me, I knew I had crossed your mind, despite my absence at your side. I found it a great comfort to believe you missed me, as I missed you. Tremendously.”

Thor blinks. Loki deflates. “I am drunk, brother.” Thor cannot remember a time when Loki slouched, not even when they were children, yet his posture slackens now.

Thor laughs again, a gentle rumble like distant thunder. “You are.”

_Pop!_

“That’s a lovely dress,” Thor compliments. “You seem to have many beautiful gowns, yet I’ve seen you in none.”

“I did not wish to wear one when I was your sister last.”

“And you never wish to wear them when you’re my brother?” Thor wonders.

Loki shrugs. “I would not fit them properly. But you have seen me in robes and other such finery. It is much the same to me.”

Thor watches Loki’s fingers twitch around the claw. He holds out a hand. “May I see it? What creature did it come from?”

“Oh, some beast of Vanaheim, I believe.” Loki hesitates a moment before placing the talon in Thor’s hand, pale fingers tickling against Thor’s palm. He wants to catch Loki’s hand, wind their fingers together, feel the calluses Loki conceals and the otherwise smooth skin.

Thor hefts the talon, running a thumb down its curved length. It’s a poor substitute.

Loki tips forward. His palm braces against Thor’s knee. Thor jolts at the sudden heat. “Drunk.” Loki’s alcohol-saturated breath strikes Thor’s face. More heat. Loki licks his lips. “Sorry.” Nothing about his tone and cheeky grin lends credence to the apology.

He leans in, fingers quivering where they grip Thor—from nerves or strain, Thor’s unsure. He only registers the mad thumping of his heart. The anticipation. The rightness of their closeness.

_Pop!_

Blue light bathes every object in the room. Thor and Loki turn to look at the source.

“Damn.”

**Author's Note:**

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